


The Hunt

by TheAndorianMiningConsortium



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndorianMiningConsortium/pseuds/TheAndorianMiningConsortium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worf and Martok search for a destructive creature that has got loose on Deep Space 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

"Do you see him?" asked Worf, his tone a hushed whisper. Hidden in the shadows, his body was poised and tensed, ready to leap to attack or defend at a split second's notice. Keen eyes searching the environment for their prey. The beast that had eluded the warriors for hours...

They were getting close now. He could feel it. His senses were tingling with anticipation. Once they located the creature, he could get out from under this table and finally capture the prize.

"No," Martok replied, crouched down beside Worf and peering in the opposite direction, voice similarly hushed. "But I  _hear_  him." He reached out with one hand to grab Worf by the shoulder, making him turn his head, and with the other, he pointed towards the chaos of broken furniture that was scattered across the floor of Worf's quarters, all around them. A wardrobe upended, a shelving unit destroyed, four chairs shattered into many pieces. All rolled together into a complete and utter mess. The legacy of their hunt. "He is somewhere...” Martok whispered, “in  _there._ "

"Are you certain?" Worf whispered back.

"Yes. I heard him eating."

"What could he be eating?!" Worf was both confused and concerned.

Martok thought about it for a moment. "What was in that cupboard we just destroyed?"

"Jadzia's clothing," Worf's eyes widened in horror. "That little Ha'DIbaH is  _eating my wife's clothes_!"

"Shhh!" Martok gave Worf a little shove to remind him of their situation. "We must not let him hear us! Listen," he gestured towards the wreckage. "He is  _in_  there. Be ready."

"It will be difficult to reach him without alerting him to our intentions."

"I know. We must be cunning." Deciding that now was the time to be cunning, Martok shuffled unceremoniously out from beneath the table, then raised himself to one knee. Worf followed, at an equally awkward shuffle.

"Alright," said Martok quietly. " _You_  stay there. I will approach, and atttempt to flush him out. When he runs,  _you_  grab him. Ready?"

"Ready."

With a sudden yell, startling and ear piercing as it cut through the hushed silence, Martok made a great flying leap onto the wreckage of the furniture. Most of it collapsed beneath him the moment that he hit it, causing the General to stumble unceremoniously into the wall and partially lose his balance. But as clumsy as his attack was, the plan worked, and a split-second later a high pitched squeal rang out as the baby targ shot from the wreckage, and sprinted clean across the room.

Worf jumped, ready to wrestle it to the ground, but the targ evaded him, shooting past him and scrabbling onto a demolished desk that stood sideways at the other side of the room. Whipping around, Worf was quick to follow, jumping forward and grabbing the creature by the leg. It kicked him in the chin, and as Worf yelled out and put a hand to his bruise, it wriggled away- leaping right over the desk and onto what had once been a shelving unit, now in many pieces, before turning running back towards Martok.

Martok jumped at it, but the targ saw him coming and changed direction. As a result, Martok hit the table instead, and thus with a mighty crash, managed to destroy the last remaining bit of un-demolished furniture in the room. As he fell through the table and onto the floor, Worf made another grab for the creature, this time grasping it by the scruff of the neck.

It kicked him again, but this time Worf was prepared, and he did not let go. The baby targ squealed and he squealed, but Worf held him tight. At arm's length. Success!

"Good!" said Martok, picking himself up and approaching Worf.

"The beast is captured," Worf stated. "Now, how do we get him back to the  _Ch'Tang_ , without causing a disturbance along the way? I do not think it will be wise to carry him all the way from here to the airlock."

“Hrrrm.” Martok reached forward to scratch the animal's hairy neck. As much as it had just put them through hell for the last four hours, and caused the utter demolition of Worf and Jadzia's living quarters... he could not blame it for simply doing what animals do. It was their  _own_  fault, for letting Drex take the animal for a walk in the station in the first place. Martok should have known his son couldn't keep a young animal under control.

The targ did not take kindly to being scratched, and bit his finger. Martok drew back immediately, chuckling. "Let's put the leash back on him. Then we can beam him directly onto the  _Ch'Tang_." He hunted around for the leash for a couple of minutes, then realised it was already in his hand, and accordingly fastened it to the targ's collar. Once this was done, Martok opened his communicator and contacted the  _Ch'Tang_.

"Lock onto the targ's lifesigns and beam it directly to the Drex's quarters," he ordered. A moment later, the baby targ dematerialized, and both heaved a sigh of relief.

"There," said Martok. "It is done. And if he ruins my son's furniture just like he ruined yours, then my son only has himself to blame."

Worf, however, was  _not_  amused. In fact, his face was a picture of fury waiting to explode.

" _Why_  did we not just do  _that_  in the first place?!" he demanded.

Martok considered the question for a moment. Actually, now that Worf mentioned it...

"I suppose neither of us thought of it! Come. Perhaps we can replicate some replacement furniture before Jadzia gets b--"

The sound of the doorbell chime cut him off before he could finish. Worf and Martok exchanged startled glances. A tense silence hung in the air, until the doorbell chimed again.

"Who is there?" Worf asked.

"Who do you think it is?" came a familiar voice from behind the door. "Why is this door locked!?"

Jadzia was home. A look of horror flashed between the two. It was too late, and now they were going to be in  _very_  serious trouble...

"Well..." Martok gave Worf a sympathetic look. "Just be thankful that it is not  _my_  wife."

 


End file.
